Marvelous

by Travis Thrasher

  I think about Devon buying pot from Artie and what this all means. There’s no way Harry knows about this. Right?

  “No, just about anything.” He points to his temple, and then I get what he’s referring to.

  I told Harry I’d fallen off my bike. It wasn’t a very convincing lie, and I hadn’t worked very hard to sell it when I told him.

  “Thanks.”

  That’s all I say. I’m not going to tell him what’s happening at home.

  Harry’s the kind of father I wish I had. The kind who cares.

  The world would be a much better place if everybody had a father like that.

  The worst part about telling somebody something deeply personal is wondering later whether you said too much. I can’t help thinking this, because I haven’t spoken much to Marvel since I told her the truth about my father. She’s been in at the record store a couple of times, but we haven’t talked about anything deep and meaningful. Now I’m wondering if I should have said anything.

  Dad is ignoring me, the way he always does after an “incident.” This seems to be the way he copes. It’s better for him not to talk to me, because I remind him of what he did. Mom has mentioned Marvel’s uncle to me several times, reminding me to avoid being around him.

  One weeknight after reluctantly telling Marvel good-bye, I ask if we can talk on the phone once we both get home. She calls me right away.

  “That was fast,” I tell her.

  “The apartment is empty. My aunt and uncle should be coming home any minute. You wanted to talk?”

  “Yeah, I just—I feel stupid about some of the things I told you.”

  “Why? There’s no reason you should.”

  I’m not exactly sure why. I’m embarrassed about it, but I also feel as though something between us is different now. And not different in a good way.

  “I know you better now,” Marvel says. “That’s a good thing.”

  “Really? I think it was easier talking with you at the store when you didn’t know so much.”

  “You know stuff about me.”

  “Not everything. Like what’s going on with your aunt.”

  “What if I told you everything?” she says with a bit of humor laced in her tone. “Just wrote it all up and delivered it in one sitting? How boring would that be?”

  “Not boring. I’d understand you more.”

  “So why do you need to understand me?”

  I don’t say anything.

  “I understand why, Brandon. I think I do. But you know my thoughts on the two of us. There can’t be anything like that. Do you want to get to know me because you’re generally curious about my life, or is it because you think it’s going to help you start dating me?”

  Her honesty is pretty incredible. And pretty much on target, too.

  “Maybe both,” I say. “I’m trying to be honest like you are.”

  “Things would be so much easier between us if you took that out of the equation. The whole guy-girl thing. Both of our lives are already complicated enough. And there’s just so much . . .” This time she doesn’t finish her thought.

  “There’s just so much what?” I ask.

  “There’s just too much that I could say.”

  “About what?”

  She doesn’t answer.

  “About the guy-girl thing?” I ask.

  “No. About the whole issue of faith. That whole area. That’s something I’m dealing with daily. And it’s heavy.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Because every day I doubt the things I know and believe.”

  Sometimes it feels like I’m talking about the color blue when she’s actually talking about purple. Somehow this girl makes me color-blind.

  “You don’t seem to have doubts,” I tell her.

  “Oh, if you only knew. It’s bad sometimes. And I scream out to God to give me peace and comfort. But he doesn’t always do that, does he?”

  “No.” I say this, but I don’t really know. Not for sure.

  “I keep praying for a miracle. That’s all. I ask God for one, but it never comes.”

  “What kind of miracle?”

  “I don’t know. Any kind. Just one. I know and believe, but I still ask him for one.”

  I’m about to ask her to explain this more, but suddenly I hear something in the background shuffling around.

  “My aunt and uncle are home. I have to go.”

  “Okay.”

  “More on that later,” Marvel says.

  “More on miracles and all that?”

  “Sure. That and more. Bye.”

  She’s gone before I can say another word.

  I wonder what she means by saying she wants a miracle. She’s probably one of the most outspoken people about faith I’ve known, though the crowd I hang around with doesn’t have those kinds of people in it. There are kids at school whose whole lives seem to revolve around church. They’re always talking about youth group and mission trips and raising awareness for one cause and helping out people with another. And all of that is great, but sometimes those people wear me out.

  It wears you out ’cause you don’t really buy into it.

  That’s the truth. I don’t know if I’d tell Marvel that in so many words, but it’s the truth.

  Getting me to have the sort of faith she has. Now that would be a miracle. But that’s not gonna happen.

  It’s strange that I find myself thinking so much about two people I didn’t even know at the beginning of the summer. Marvel, of course, and also Seth Belcher. Today I got a message from Frankie saying he found out Seth’s actual address. I didn’t know he was looking for it. It didn’t seem like Seth mattered to him. But this is why I love Frankie. He’ll surprise you. No big deal, just here, take this address.

  I borrow Glyn’s truck and plug the address into my phone’s GPS. It takes me to a very different place from where Seth had us drop him off that night—past Randall Road in Glenforest Estates. I wonder if Frankie got this wrong. Seth has never struck me as being well-off.

  I pass the road that leads to Taryn’s house. I’m not looking forward to school starting, because I’ll have to see her daily. It’ll be painful. Especially if I happen to be hanging around Marvel. My relationship with Taryn seems like a whole lifetime away.

  The GPS leads me to a large two-story house that looks fairly new. I park on the street, then get out and look around for the black Jeep Cherokee. I haven’t seen it again, but I keep looking out for it. Just in case. Not that I’d know what to do if I saw it.

  I knock on the door, totally not expecting Seth. But when the door opens, it’s his face I see. I probably look as surprised as he does.

  “Hey, Seth.”

  “Hey.”

  “Is this your house?” I can’t help asking the obvious, but I’m still a little thrown off.

  “Yeah.”

  “So that night—the place we dropped you off . . .”

  “It was a friend’s place.”

  I think of the street with a couple of deserted houses and the small, run-down house with the dim front light. What kind of friend might that be?

  And since when does this guy have friends?

  “So, uh, you busy?”

  He looks behind me in both directions, then shakes his head. I can tell he’s nervous.

  “I’m by myself,” I say.

  “Okay.”

  I’m not sure what to say, since I swear I didn’t think he’d be here. “I figured I’d just see what’s going on.”

  “Just playing Xbox.”

  I nod. He doesn’t seem to be even thinking about inviting me in.

  “What happened to you?” He asks if Greg and his buddies had anything to do with my fading black eye. The names he uses to describe Greg and his buddies would get him beaten up again.

  “It wasn’t them. It was something else.”

  “I’m starting to take mixed martial arts. Five days a week.”

  This sounds like a bad joke, but I can tell
Seth is being serious. “Well, that’s good.”

  “One of these days, when someone tries to grab me from behind, I’ll be ready. The only problem is when they weigh more than you.”

  Seth might be 150 pounds if he’s lucky. Greg is definitely over 200.

  “Yeah, or if they happen to play football and are stupid.”

  He doesn’t laugh with a “that’s funny” laugh but more of a “that’s a cute joke” sort of chuckle.

  What am I doing here? Really?

  “Have you seen any more of those guys?” I ask.

  Seth just shrugs as if he doesn’t know what I’m talking about. I’m feeling pretty stupid.

  “Look—Seth—can I give you my number? I just want to help out. I hate Greg and the guys he hangs around with.”

  “I can take care of myself.”

  Yes, clearly you can.

  “Yeah, I know,” I tell him. “Just—can I just give you my cell?”

  “Sure. Wait a sec.”

  Seth closes the door, then he opens it again, holding his large smartphone. I give him my number and he types it in.

  “Now I know who to call instead of 911.”

  “Yeah, if you need something,” I tell him.

  An awkward moment passes, so I nod and tell him I’ll see him later. But even this doesn’t get a nice “See ya” in reply. Seth just shuts the big door of his big house without saying a word.

  Maybe I shouldn’t be trying to help this guy out. Maybe some people don’t want help.

  Maybe this kid is getting exactly what his attitude deserves.

  Marvel greets me with a smile. The day has suddenly become brighter despite the storm clouds outside.

  “You’re back,” I say as I scan the room to see who else is around.

  “Of course.”

  “Love the beret,” I tell her.

  “I found it this past weekend. Do you like going to thrift stores?”

  “Not really. But I’d go with you.”

  “Maybe we can find you some interesting clothes,” Marvel says.

  “I’m not dressing in anything seventies.”

  “You could use some color. And something that doesn’t have a Nike or Adidas logo on it.”

  I listen to the song that’s playing and know Harry didn’t pick this album out. “Who is this?”

  “Sara Groves. She’s a Christian artist.”

  I nod. “Harry let you put this on?”

  “He can’t resist someone in a red beret.”

  Yeah, especially when that someone is you.

  “These songs fill me with hope. It’s tough enough starting the day on your own. It’s great to have some companions in the ongoing war.”

  “Well, I’d be your companion.”

  “You already are,” Marvel says.

  She surprises me by saying this, but I guess I shouldn’t be so surprised. Maybe I just need to believe it.

  I’ve been at the record store three hours, and it’s actually busy. Harry’s had me helping him with a large display in one corner. A poster falls down, and Marvel and I have to put it back up. An older woman talks to me for a long time about the band Rush.

  It’s around one in the afternoon when Marvel stops for lunch. I want to go out with her, especially since this is one of those days when I don’t think I’m getting paid. But she starts to head out without asking me. I get the idea she simply wants to be on her own.

  “Hey, Rush man, why don’t you take lunch too?”

  I look over at Harry, who has a big smile on his face.

  “Yeah, come on with me, then,” Marvel says.

  I love being treated like some twelve-year-old boy around here. But I follow Marvel and don’t really mind.

  We go to a small deli in the library that Marvel says she loves, then take our food and sit in the small park behind it.

  “I like coming here because you feel like this little park is just your own,” Marvel tells me as she unwraps her sandwich. “Nobody ever seems to come here, at least not when I’m here.”

  The gray clouds above us don’t look like they’re going to rain, but they’re still thick and not letting the sun shine through. I nibble on my turkey sandwich.

  “I went to see Seth Belcher today, the kid I told you about who’s been bullied.”

  “Yeah? What for?”

  I laugh. “Yeah, he was wondering the same thing. Felt like a total idiot.”

  “But why did you go see him? Did he even know you were coming?”

  “No. I just showed up. Was hoping for a way to get to know him, let him know there’s help. I gave him my phone number.”

  “I’m sure that just made his day.”

  “Ouch,” I say. “I’m just trying to help.”

  She gives me a knowing, complicated look that takes me off guard.

  “What?”

  Marvel swallows her bite of sandwich. “I agree. That’s just what you do. You just try to help.”

  “Is that a bad thing?”

  “No. Not at all.”

  “I don’t always,” I say. “I stay out of trouble. At least, I have until this summer. For some reason.”

  “It’s been a different summer. Probably for everyone around here.”

  I just nod, but I want to ask her how she feels about her parents and how she manages to cope. I want to ask her whether her faith really, truly is real and whether she can offer a little bit of it to me, like sharing a bag of chips. I want her to explain how she can be so happy when it seems like so many things in her life are sad. I want to know how a guy like me can get a girl like her to fall for him. Not in a passing “you’re cute” sort of way, but in an “I’ll die for you” kind.

  “I bet you can’t wait for school to start,” she says.

  Only if you’re standing there on opening day next to me.

  “I’m eager to finish high school,” I tell her.

  “Yeah.”

  “There—right then. I saw it.”

  “What?”

  “This look you get sometimes. It comes at least once a day every time we talk.”

  “What look?”

  “It’s like—it’s sad.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. I just want to know why. You’ve been in a good mood all day.”

  “I don’t mean to look a certain way,” Marvel says.

  I try to remember what I said. To see what might have made her mood suddenly change.

  “You don’t want to finish high school?”

  “No, it’s not that,” Marvel says. “I’d very much like to finish high school.”

  “You say that as if you think you’re not going to finish high school.”

  She smiles but doesn’t say anything. “I need to use the restroom. Do you mind?”

  “Marvel?”

  “No, it’s just—I’m sorry.”

  I watch her walk across the mulch of the park and up the steps to the library. I suddenly feel like a fool, which seems to happen a lot when I’m around Marvel and talking.

  I sigh and look up at the sky. And that’s when I see it.

  A beam of light suddenly pierces through the sky as if I’m watching some kind of movie or animation. It’s like a hole suddenly burns into the gray ceiling above me, allowing a bright burst of golden yellow to shine down like some kind of celestial spotlight.

  I blink, then look again. It’s still there. I squint and stare and it’s still there. It doesn’t look real. I’ve seen amazing rainbows and sunsets and even stars at night, but this is unreal. I’ve never seen anything like it.

  I watch it for a moment and can’t wait for Marvel to see it. I hold my breath, hoping for her to come back.

  But it disappears as quickly as it showed up, just as Marvel returns.

  “What?”

  I stand and keep looking. It’s like some bad joke. Or like I’m dreaming this. “Did you see that?” I ask her.

  “What?”

  “The sky. Did you see that? It was lik
e the sun was shining in this one spot. It was really cool.”

  “No,” Marvel says as she sits back down.

  I keep looking up, waiting and watching.

  “You okay?” she asks me.

  “No. Man, you should’ve seen it.”

  Maybe I’m losing my mind. Maybe for some reason, I’m really starting to lose it. And maybe Marvel’s the cause.

  Devon is at it again. Playing police detective or Sherlock Holmes or something.

  “Where are we going?” I ask after riding in his car for ten minutes.

  “Somewhere.”

  “I told you I didn’t want to get Sonic,” I say.

  “We’re not going to Sonic. Even though I do believe their drive-through system is the best thing in the world of fast-food restaurants.”

  We’re headed toward the center of Appleton.

  “Is something happening in town?”

  “Nope.”

  We head over the bridge and turn left onto Rush Street. When we get to an old industrial building Devon slows down.

  “Are you going to kill me or something?” I joke. Probably not the best kind of joke, considering what happened to Artie.

  “No. Just—here, I’m going to keep driving, then turn around and park on the street.”

  “What for?”

  “I keep telling you, wait.”

  So we sit in his Jeep, waiting. Every time I try to talk, Devon hushes me. I wait and yawn and move around in my seat.

  “There—lean down a bit,” Devon tells me.

  I sink down in the leather seat as I see the twin lights of a vehicle heading toward us, then turning into the abandoned parking lot of the equally empty warehouse. The car—some kind of big town car—parks and goes dark. We wait some more. I can’t see if anybody got out of the car since we can barely see that far in the murky night.

  “Look at the warehouse,” Devon says. “Just beyond it.”

  I see the outline of an old smokestack behind the warehouse. Not sure what it was used for or if it has anything to do with the building or the river. Then I see the side of it light up, as if a spotlight is shining on it.

  I see the words LETON lit up—the APP doesn’t show from where we sit.

  “What’s going on?” I ask in a whisper.

  “I don’t know. But I followed that car here the other night. Belongs to Otis Sykes.”